


All The Way Home (I'll Be Warm)

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas AU involving New York, snow, baked treats, and hot chocolate.</p><p>
  <i>Stiles is standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, and Derek doesn’t want to see him disappear into the apartment opposite without a promise to see him again.  “Do you—would you like something to drink?  Coffee?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Uh, yeah, sure.”  Rubbing his hands together, Stiles nods and looks over his shoulder.  “Can you give me a minute to get changed?  I’ve got snow melting in places that I don’t want it to be melting.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Derek laughs at the look on Stiles’ face and nods.  “Knock when you’re done.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>If Derek watches Stiles until the door closes, that’s no one’s business but his own.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Way Home (I'll Be Warm)

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!

There’s a lot of things Derek loves about Christmas in New York; the chance of snow; the lights that sparkle over the streets when the nights start getting darker; the fact he can gorge himself on gingerbread lattes without anyone looking at him strangely. He appreciates New York at Christmas, enjoys how different it is to Christmas in California. What he doesn’t appreciate is stumbling through the streets filled with tourists while carrying a present for his mother from a store that doesn’t do deliveries out of state.

He barely manages to make it to his apartment building without taking people out, and when he finally gets inside, he can spot someone walking into the elevator. Derek moves as fast as he can in the direction of the elevator, peeking over the top of the box at the rapidly closing doors. “Could you —” is all he gets out before the doors get wedged open and he manages to slide in. “Thanks,” Derek says, shifting the box in his arms, already regretting buying the vase. “Floor five.”

“No worries, dude. That’s my floor as well.”

Derek doesn’t respond, kneeling down to carefully put the box on the floor before straightening up and rubbing the ache in his forearm. Fixing his gaze on the guy opposite him, Derek pauses before running a hand over his head. The guy is—he’s really kind of hot. There’s still snow on his hair, and his nose is red from the cold, cheeks flushed and his mouth slightly open. “Uh, thanks,” Derek says again, leaning against the wall.

The guy shrugs. “Not a problem. I’m Stiles, by the way,” he says, offering a gloved hand to Derek. “You’re on my floor?”

Taking it, Derek tries to hide a smile. “Derek, and yeah. For a little over two years. 5D.”

“Of course you are,” Stiles says, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I’m 5C. New York curse, right? You never get to know your neighbours unless they play awful music and you have to yell at them.”

“I’m from a small town in California,” Derek says as the elevator comes to a stop. He bends down and picks up the box. “People not knowing who I am is kind of comforting.” Stepping out of the elevator, Derek suddenly realises it’s going to be a pain trying to get his keys out.

“Need any help?” Stiles asks, following him down the hallway.

“Yeah, actually.” Derek turns with the box and holds it out to Stiles. “Could you hold this so I can get my keys?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Derek watches Stiles’ long fingers curl around the edges of the box and closes his eyes for a moment before digging his keys out and opening his door. Holding it open with his body, Derek reaches over and slides his hands underneath the box, taking it back from Stiles. “Thanks for that,” he calls as he walks inside and puts the box on the coffee table. When he turns around, Stiles is standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, and Derek doesn’t want to see him disappear into the apartment opposite without a promise to see him again. “Do you—would you like something to drink? Coffee?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Rubbing his hands together, Stiles nods and looks over his shoulder. “Can you give me a minute to get changed? I’ve got snow melting in places that I don’t want it to be melting.”

Derek laughs at the look on Stiles’ face and nods. “Knock when you’re done.”

If Derek watches Stiles until the door closes, that’s no one’s business but his own.

*

“You’ve never been to a Mets game? Really?” Stiles is gesturing with the mug of cocoa Derek handed him, coming close to spilling it in his incredulity, but he’s so wonderfully animated, so passionate, that Derek can’t bring himself to care.

“I guess I haven’t had time.”

“You need to _make_ time for the Mets, Derek. I’m not even sure you can be considered a New Yorker if you haven’t been to a Mets game.”

Derek contemplates telling Stiles that he’s been to a Yankees game, but doesn’t think that’ll help his cause. Instead, he takes a sip of his cocoa and leans back against the cushions, watching how Stiles’ eyes light up whenever he finds a mini marshmallow in the mug.

“Can I be considered a New Yorker at all if I wasn’t born here?” he asks eventually.

Stiles shrugs, putting his mug on the coffee table. “I was born here, so I’m probably not the best judge because I’m a snob. I can, however, say that you need to come to a Mets game with me.”

“It’s December.”

“So?”

“So you think you’ll still want to hang out with me when baseball season starts?” Derek fiddles with his cardigan sleeves as he waits for an answer, trying not to make it too obvious how much he wants to be spending time with Stiles in the future.

“I think it’s a pretty safe bet, depending on one thing.”

“What?”

“Die Hard. Is it a Christmas movie?”

“Is that meant to be a question? It’s obviously a Christmas movie. My sister, Laura, she doesn’t agree, but she’s outvoted each time we’re at home.”

“How can she think that it’s not a Christmas movie?” Stiles exclaims. “He’s flying home for Christmas. There’s a Christmas tree in it! The whole movie wouldn’t happen if it weren’t for Christmas!”

“I know,” Derek says calmly, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “She still won’t accept it.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s Laura. Got any siblings?”

“It’s just me,” Stiles responds, shaking his head. “My mom and dad live in Park Slope, same house my dad grew up in. They took over the cafe and bakery my dad’s mom opened when he was a kid.”

“Family business?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds nice,” Derek says, draining the last of his cocoa. “Your family having roots like that, especially in a city.”

“Your family doesn’t have roots?”

“It’s different.” Derek puts his mug on the coffee table and pulls his legs up on the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees and looking at Stiles. “It’s a small town, it’s hard not to have roots there, but that’s all you have if you stay.”

“You dreamt of something bigger?”

“I guess. Somewhere where not everyone knew who I was. New York’s anonymous, I like that.”

“Why do you want to be anonymous?”

Derek hides a smile behind his knees, ducking his face so he doesn’t have to see Stiles’ reaction to his answer. “It helps with what I do.”

“What is it you do?” Stiles asks, putting his mug on the floor. “I haven’t been able to work it out from your bookshelf.”

“You’ve been trying to work it out from my bookshelf?” Derek looks up, slightly confused at Stiles’ methods. “Really?”

“Hey, it works sometimes. My buddy, Scott? He has all his nursing textbooks on display.”

Standing up, Derek picks up the empty mugs and heads over to the kitchen, carefully placing them in the sink and turning around to raise an eyebrow at Stiles. “If you haven’t guessed from my bookshelf, I’m questioning your powers of observation.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests before pausing. “Wait, so the answer _is_ on your bookshelf?”

“Possibly.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and gets off the couch, walking over to the bookshelf. He shoots a glance at Derek over his shoulder. “No hints?”

“Nope.”

“Not even if I tell you what I do?”

“You’re a student.”

“What?” Stiles turns around, his mouth slightly open, and Derek tries so hard not to stare at the way Stiles’ tongue swipes across his lips. He fails, he knows he fails, and he wonders if it’s obvious just how much he’s staring. “How did you guess that?”

“You have the look of a student.”

“I’m pretty sure I should be offended by that.”

Derek smirks, resting his elbows on the breakfast bar and watching Stiles turn back to the bookshelf, gaze falling over Stiles’ broad shoulders. “Am I wrong?”

“I work at my parent’s bakery, but I finished at CIA last year, so you’re not far off.”

“Impressive.”

“Not really,” Stiles says, his long fingers idly trailing along the spines of the books. “I’ve been running around a kitchen since before I could pronounce most of the things I was eating. Feels like I got an unfair advantage.”

“Is it what you want to do with your life?”

“My first memories are of cinnamon and vanilla; flour all over my baba’s hands, and my dad lifting me up so I could taste things. It’s all I want.”

Derek straightens up and nods, even though Stiles can’t see him. “Then don’t feel guilty about where you’ve got to.”

“So now I’ve told you what I do,” Stiles says, turning around and locking eyes with Derek. “Does this mean you’re going to tell me what it is you do?”

“Middle shelf, halfway across,” Derek responds, walking towards Stiles. He reaches over Stiles’ shoulder and tugs down a book. “Here.”

“You bind books?”

“That’s really where your mind goes to first?” Derek rolls his eyes and taps the cover. “I write them. It’s a series about, uh, a werewolf cop?”

“Scott’s fianceé reads these,” Stiles says, reading the back cover. “She’s going to be so jealous that I know you.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Derek shrugs awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Derek.” Stiles looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “She queued outside a bookstore for the last one. I had to go with her because Scott was on a night shift and didn’t want her to be alone. Which is ridiculous considering she teaches krav maga in her spare time and would be able to take care of herself way better than I could take care—”

“She likes them, then?”

“She keeps them by her _bed_.”

Derek doesn’t quite know how to react to that; he can feel heat on his cheeks and knows he’s flushing underneath his stubble. “That’s... flattering?”

“Why are you embarrassed about what you do?”

“I’m not.”

“Most people would be excited to hear that people love their work, you—”

“I’m not embarrassed, Stiles.” Derek shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, looking away. “They’re not exactly great literature.”

Stiles puts the book back on the shelf before stepping closer to Derek. “Do you enjoy it?”

“I like creating characters,” Derek says, looking at Stiles from underneath his eyelashes. “Telling stories, hopefully making people get lost in them.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Stiles says, flashing a grin at Derek. “I will be checking out your books now, though.”

Derek groans and rubs his fingers over his forehead. “Don’t buy them, I’ll get you copies if you really want to read them.”

“How are you going to make money if you don’t let people buy your books?”

“That’s not an issue for me,” Derek says reluctantly.

“Secretly rich?” Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Can we not talk about it?”

Stiles looks him over before nodding. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“You don’t want to talk about it, I’m not gonna make you talk about it,” Stiles says simply. “That’s not what a friend does.”

“We’ve known each other all of three hours.”

“A potential friend?”

Derek dips his chin, chuckling at the uncertain look on Stiles’ face. “Okay,” he says eventually, looking up at Stiles and smiling at him. “Potential friend.”

Grinning back at Derek, Stiles’ cheeks flush and he rakes a hand through his hair. “Sadly, this potential friend has work tomorrow and needs to go home.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disrupt your delicate routine,” Derek says as Stiles heads over to the door.

“Cute.” Stiles stops to pick up his coat, draping it over his arm. “Hey, if you’re free, you should stop by.”

“And watch you work?”

“I’ll give you free samples. Our pumpkin apple muffins are perfect for writing,” Stiles says. “Bring your laptop, come hang out.”

Hesitating a little, Derek folds his arms over his chest slightly defensively. “Are your parents going to be there?”

“Scared of meeting them?”

“I think it’s a little soon in our relationship,” Derek says dryly.

“You want free food, or not?”

“Alright,” Derek says, deliberately meeting Stiles’ eyes. “It’s a date.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he pauses by the door before nodding at Derek. “I’ll slide details under your door tomorrow morning and you can stop by in the afternoon? I’ll be there until six.”

“Okay,” Derek says as Stiles heads out of his apartment. Letting out a breath, Derek scrubs a hand over his face. A date. The words had just slipped out, he hadn’t meant to—. Except. Well. He kind of had. He’s attracted to Stiles, sure, but more than that, in the few hours he’d spent with him, Derek had found him more intriguing than anyone he’d come across in a long time. If all he wanted was to fuck Stiles, he could’ve done that tonight probably, but he—there’s no part of Derek that wants Stiles to be a notch on his bedpost.

For the first time in more years than he cares to remember, Derek wants to know every part of Stiles. Groaning, he sits down on the couch and looks up at the ceiling. He really hopes he’s not going to fuck this up.

*

At a little past two the next day, Derek finds himself standing outside a cosy looking café in Brooklyn. There’s fake snow patterns on the window blending in with the very real frost, and he can spot Stiles behind the counter, an apron around his waist and a smile on his face as he talks to an elderly couple. Biting his lip nervously, Derek pushes the door open and heads straight to the counter.

“You found the place, then?” Stiles says, nodding at Derek.

“No,” Derek says, unravelling the scarf from around his neck. “I’m a hallucination. You’ve drunk too much caffeine and are imagining me.”

“And I thought my son was sarcastic,” says the woman joining Stiles behind the counter.

“Mom!” Stiles makes an apologetic face at Derek before turning to his mother. “You couldn’t even let him take a seat?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles’ mom says, ignoring Stiles’ histrionics and winking at Derek. “I’m greeting a customer. Derek, is it? I’m Claudia. Stiles mentioned you’d be coming in today.”

“Stiles also mentioned that he isn’t six anymore and therefore doesn’t need parental supervision like it’s a playdate.”

“Stiles should stop talking about himself in the third person,” Claudia says, brushing a flour covered hand over his shoulder. “It was ridiculous when you were in the second grade, honey, it’s still not great.”

Huffing, Stiles looks at Derek and shakes his head. “I suddenly feel like I should apologise for inviting you here.”

“You promised me free samples,” Derek says, tugging his gloves off and stuffing them in his bag. “I’m here for those. You turning that shade of red is just a bonus.”

“The love is so strong in the room,” Stiles says flatly. “Really.”

“Go and get your friend some samples and take a break,” Claudia says, moving over and taking some mugs down. “Your dad’s in the kitchen, I’ll bring you hot chocolate. Anything special in yours, Derek?”

“Gingerbread, if you have it?”

“What kind of café at Christmas would we be if we didn’t?”

Derek offers Claudia a small smile before Stiles grabs his arm over the counter and drags him to the display cabinet. “Stiles, what are you—”

“Here,” Stiles says, letting go and pointing at the muffins. “Pick some.”

“That’s a lot of muffins.”

“We are a bakery.” Stiles reaches in and picks out a few of them. “Pumpkin and apple, as promised,” he says, putting them on a plate. “Also cinnamon and nutella, chocolate mint, and cherry and almond.”

“Nutella?”

“Uh huh.” Walking out from behind the counter, Stiles motions to a table in the corner with chairs that look like the ones Derek’s grandmother had in her house. “Over there, come on.”

Following Stiles through the small café, Derek watches as Stiles greets regulars before placing the plate on the low table. Taking his coat off, Derek folds it and lays it over the back of the chair before sitting down. “You know a lot of people here.”

“A lot of these people have known me since before I could walk,” Stiles says, glancing around. “They’ve always been loyal to us, even when they didn’t need to be.”

“Where else would they get our Kolaczki?” Claudia interjects as she sets down the mugs of hot chocolate in front of them.

Derek frowns as he grasps the mug, letting the heat warm his hands. “Your what?”

“Kolaczki,” Stiles says, smiling up at Claudia. “Dad’s mom brought the recipe over from Poland with her, and the details are a Stilinski secret.”

“It’s true,” Claudia says, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “I was only allowed to learn it after I’d been married to your father for three years. Enjoy the hot chocolate, Derek,” Claudia adds before she walks away.

Derek lets the scent of gingerbread float over him and settles back into the chair. “I like it here. Reminds me of home.”

“Because California has so much snow?” Stiles responds.

“No,” Derek chuckles, putting the mug on the table. “The feel of it. Family, community. It’s really nice.”

“You’re close with your family?” Stiles leans forward and picks up a muffin. “Do you miss them?”

“Not in the mornings,” Derek says, memories of Cora banging on his door flooding back. “My little sister would always bang on the door to wake me up, even on weekends.”

“Poor baby,” Stiles says with a grin.

“You don’t have siblings, it can be hell.”

“But you do miss them.”

“They’re my family,” Derek says quietly. “Yeah, I miss them.”

“Are you going home for Christmas?”

“Planning on it.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Stiles says after a moment, picking at the muffin and eating it in small bites, his tongue swiping over his lips to catch crumbs in a way that Derek finds incredibly distracting.

“Do what?”

“Christmas when it’s still warm! It’s not natural.”

“What about people who live in Australia?” Derek says, grabbing a muffin from the plate and sitting back with it. “They always have warm Christmases.”

“They’re in the Southern hemisphere, it’s normal for them,” Stiles huffs, shoving the remains of the muffin in his mouth.

Derek follows his lead and takes a bite of the nutella and cinnamon muffin he’s picked up; he lets out an involuntary groan as the hidden nutella inside the muffin hits his tastebuds, mixing with the cinnamon and crunchy sugar topping. “Oh my _God_ ,” he mumbles around the mouthful.

“Good, right?”

“Incredible,” Derek says after he swallows. “Seriously, how do you even—”

“You’d have to ask my pops,” Stiles responds. “Wanna do that today?”

It almost comes across as a challenge and Derek pauses mid chew to raise an eyebrow at Stiles before swallowing the rest of the muffin. “Uh,” Derek coughs and looks around. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t want to meet him?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, winking at Derek. “What’re your intentions for me?”

“Do you really want me talking about that in a public place?”

Stiles coughs, choking on his hot chocolate, and Derek smirks at him before taking a sip of his own drink. The flush on Stiles’ cheeks spreads to his neck, making the moles on his skin seem even more prominent, and Derek’s wondering at what point staring at Stiles is going to make him seem creepy.

“Did you, uh, bring work to do?”

Taking pity on Stiles’ attempt to change the subject, Derek nods. “I did. My laptop’s in my bag.”

“Can I tell Allison any secrets?”

“My publisher would kill me, and she’s actually terrifying.”

Stiles screws up his face and pouts. “You sure you can’t be bribed with muffins?”

“Bring me more of the nutella ones and you never know what might happen. Have you got to get back to work?”

“Can’t leave mom and pops alone for too long, who knows what’ll happen.” Finishing his cocoa, Stiles stands up, brushing his hands over his apron. “You sticking around?”

“You want me to?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m sticking around.”

*

It starts snowing on the way home, and when they get out of the subway, Derek looks over at Stiles to see him tilting his head back, his tongue poking out to catch snowflakes. Stiles’ cheeks are flushed from the cold air whipping over him, his hat pulled down over his ears, eyes closed as snowflakes hit his skin, and Derek’s stupidly captivated by the sight.

“You ever done this?” Stiles calls over. “I used to do it all the time as a kid.”

“Never had the chance until I moved here. Still not sure that this is stuff I should have in my mouth.”

Laughing, Stiles drops his head and looks at Derek. “And what is it you think you _should_ have in your mouth?”

“I’ve got a few answers for that,” Derek murmurs, raising an eyebrow at Stiles, quirking a smile when Stiles’ mouth drops open.

“You—” Stiles points a gloved finger at Derek and shakes his head. “I’m not even gonna go there.”

“Are you working tomorrow?” Derek asks impulsively.

“Uh, no, actually.”

“Want to have dinner?”

Stiles looks around and wrinkles his nose. “Go out in this?”

“Or I could cook,” Derek says slowly. “It’s a thing people do.”

“You’re going to cook for me?”

“Why are you so confused?”

“This is a small town thing, isn’t it?” Stiles grins at Derek as they round the corner to the apartment block. “Cooking for people you barely know.”

Derek shrugs, reaching around Stiles and opening the door to the building. “I met your mom today, Stiles.”

“Didn’t meet my pops, though,” Stiles teases as they head inside.

“So you don’t want food because I haven’t met your dad yet?”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles presses the button for the elevator. “I’m not going to turn down food, Derek.”

“Good.”

“But you’re still gonna have to meet my dad at some point,” Stiles points out as the elevator doors close.

*

Letting the steam warm his bathroom, Derek slowly strips off and steps under the spray. The water hits his head, falling down his body and he breathes in, the heat loosening the tightness in his chest that’s been there since he left the café with Stiles. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy it; he did, possibly a little too much. He misses that feeling of family being so close, of knowing that he could drop round to his parent’s house and instantly be welcomed.

Being in New York gives him the freedom he needs to get away from his family name; gets him away from the ins and outs of the publishing industry, the stigma of the Hale name, but it comes at a price and there’s a part of Derek that would like nothing more than to be curled up on the couch in the family home watching Netflix.

Drying himself off, Derek tugs on some pj pants and his old college sweater. It’s peaceful watching the snow fall down outside, even though Derek knows it’ll be slush by the morning. He can’t stop wondering if maybe Stiles is looking out at the snow as well; if he’s thinking about Derek while he does so.

Suppressing a groan, Derek sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

He’s in serious trouble here.

*

“I brought beer,” Stiles says when Derek opens the door. He’s wearing a shirt with Captain America’s shield on it, which he somehow manages to make look hot, and Derek takes a step back to let him in.

“Good, or else we’d be having mac and cheese with hot chocolate and I don’t think that goes together.”

“You made mac and cheese?” Stiles asks, heading straight over to the kitchen and dropping the beer on the counter.

“With chanterelle mushrooms and peas.”

Stiles whines in response and Derek’s thoughts immediately go to other ways he could make that noise come out of Stiles’ mouth. “Are you gonna open the beer or just leave it sitting there?” Derek asks in a vain attempt to get his mind on something else.

“Opener?”

“Top drawer.”

Stiles’ long fingers curl around the bottles and it takes the oven timer going off for Derek to look away.

“Seriously,” Stiles says, leaning against the counter as Derek takes the mac and cheese out of the oven. “Put melted cheese on anything and I’m happy.”

“Easily pleased?”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Derek snorts, putting the dish down and reaching up to get two plates. “And I invited you, I don’t know what that says about me.”

“That you couldn’t resist me,” Stiles says, taking the plate that Derek hands him. “It’s okay, everyone has that problem.”

“The old ladies at the café don’t count,” Derek says, dishing out the food.

“They’ve known me since I was a toddler, they totally count.”

Derek picks up his beer with his free hand and walks away, settling on the couch and raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “Well?”

“The manners here are overwhelming.”

“I cooked.”

“And I appreciate it,” Stiles says, making a face at Derek as he joins him on the couch. “But manners cost nothing.”

“Shut up and eat your food,” Derek says, catching the small, pleased smile Stiles gives him in response.

The noises Stiles makes while he eats are practically pornographic, and Derek finds himself shifting in his seat with each utterance that spills from Stiles’ mouth. He loves that Stiles is enjoying the food, but each noise Stiles makes goes straight to Derek’s cock and he—well, it’s becoming a problem.

“When are you going home?” Stiles asks when he’s finished his food.

“Uh, the twenty second.”

“That’s cutting it close.”

Derek shrugs, putting his empty plate on the floor. “I’ve got a signing on the twentieth, so I couldn’t make it any earlier.”

“Looking forward to going home?”

“To seeing my family, yeah. Christmas is kind of a big deal for us, lots of relatives, lots of food. My sister kind of gets a bit crazy over Monopoly, so I’m not looking forward to dealing with that again, but it’s tradition.”

“Sounds good, even if there isn’t any snow.”

“It’s Northern California, Stiles, not LA. Besides, Christmas can be Christmas without snow.”

Stiles makes a disbelieving noise and gets up, bending over to pick up Derek’s plate. “You think about how wrong you are while I take these into the kitchen.”

“You don’t have—”

“You cooked, let me lift some plates.”

Settling back on the couch, Derek kicks his feet up onto the coffee table and stares up at the ceiling. It doesn’t take a moment before the couch dips and Stiles’ thigh brushes against his, one hand offering Derek a beer. “Thanks,” Derek says, taking it and trying not to notice the warmth of Stiles’ fingers underneath his.

It’s a useless endeavour because the next thing Derek knows, Stiles is curling his legs up; the movement makes Stiles lose his balance somewhat and he falls against Derek’s side. Derek stills, not wanting to move unless Stiles does, and when Stiles doesn’t shift away, Derek relaxes, taking a swig from the beer.

“You good?” Stiles asks quietly, almost tentatively.

“Yeah,” Derek answers, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m good.”

*

Three days later there’s a banging on the door of Derek’s apartment and he jumps, focus suddenly dragged away from his laptop. Looking down at himself, he wrinkles his nose, realising that he probably smells terrible after having been on a writing binge in an attempt to get more chapters finished before the holidays.

“Derek?” comes Stiles’ voice through the door. “Are you in there? I haven’t seen you in three days, dude.”

Derek groans, not wanting Stiles to see him in this state. “I’m fine,” he calls out. “Just busy.”

“C’mon, open the door.”

“You really don’t want me doing that,” Derek says, standing up and scrubbing a hand through his greasy hair. “I—”

“Are you naked?”

“What? No, I’ve been working so I’m—”

“I can take you being a little scruffy, Derek, open the door. I’m just going to sit out here until you do.”

“You have an apartment,” Derek mutters under his breath as he reluctantly opens the door. Stiles falls backwards and when Derek looks down at him, Stiles grins.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Are you satisfied I’m alive now?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, scrambling to his feet. “That facial hair is looking a little zombie like.”

“Can zombies grow facial hair?”

“Most people would take what I said as an insult, and you turn it into a question about zombie grooming habits. Are you going to let me in?”

Derek glances at the mess in the apartment and winces before stepping back to let Stiles step inside. “Like I said, I’ve been, uh, working so—”

“So you’ve been living off take out?”

“I get into a groove and I don’t really—”

“Derek, I’m not judging you.”

“Oh.”

“Did you make progress?” Stiles sits on the couch like he belongs there, reaching over and grabbing a slice of pizza from the box on the table. “Can I eat this?”

“It’s two days old,” Derek says, joining Stiles.

“Is that a yes?”

Derek waves a hand and watches with amusement as Stiles folds the slice in half before stuffing half of it in his mouth. “Were you just checking that I’m okay, or did you want something?”

“Am I—do you want me to go?” Stiles asks after swallowing the pizza, his brow furrowing.

“No, I don’t—” Derek breaks off and sighs. “Thanks for checking on me. I don’t usually have anyone making sure I’m okay.”

“Well,” Stiles says, his eyes focused on Derek’s face. “I’m glad I could do that.”

Derek resists the urge to squirm under Stiles’ scrutiny and instead ducks his head, smiling a little. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Is it going to take you that long to be presentable?”

“Do you try to be an asshole or does it just come naturally?” Derek asks, looking back up at Stiles.

“It comes naturally.”

“I don’t know why I even asked the question.”

Stiles grins and taps Derek’s arm. “So, tomorrow night?”

“I haven’t been to see the tree yet, and there are lights up, I thought maybe we could—”

“Act like tourists?”

“Something like that.”

“It goes against the very soul of my native New Yorker, but sure.” Stiles reaches over and poles Derek’s knee. “You gonna buy me hot chocolate?”

“Since when are you incapable of buying your own?”

“Since I was kind of hoping tomorrow night would be a date?”

“Oh.” Derek pauses for a moment, apparently long enough for Stiles to get antsy.

“Unless you don’t want it to be? I thought we—but if I was wrong then that’s okay, I’ll just go and—”

“Stop, Stiles, stop.”

“Okay?”

“Tomorrow night,” Derek says, reaching over and wrapping a hand around Stiles’ wrist loosely, fingers stroking Stiles’ skin. “It’s a date.”

*

Derek adjusts his coat before knocking on Stiles’ door; shifting from foot to foot, Derek waits, listening to Stiles bustling around inside. There’s a bang followed by loud swearing and Derek stifles a laugh. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, yes,” Stiles calls out. “I’ll—give me a second.”

There’s a little more noise before Stiles is there, yanking the door open, his scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck. “Hi,” he says, smiling at Derek.

“Well you’re not bleeding,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow. “So I’m going to assume you’re okay.”

“I, uh, dropped my whisk.”

“You—”

“Dropped my whisk, yes. I was trying to clean up and then I realised the time and—” Stiles cuts himself off and steps out of his apartment, closing the door behind him. “It doesn’t matter, we can go.”

They head out of the building, the crunch of snow underneath their feet as they start the short walk to the Rockefeller Centre. “Woah,” Stiles exclaims, grabbing on to Derek’s arm as he stumbles.

“You okay?”

“Slipped,” Stiles says, his grip loosening, but not letting go of Derek’s elbow. “I’m good, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh. But maybe I should hold on to you. For balance.”

Derek feels a warmth spread through his chest as Stiles threads his arm through the crook of Derek’s arm and cuddles up next to him. “For balance,” he says, vaguely amused. “Okay. Were you baking earlier?”

“Christmas cookies, and a little gingerbread. It’s not as easy as it is in the café’s kitchen, but it makes my apartment smell amazing.”

“Am I going to get any of those treats?”

Stiles laughs, his leg brushing against Derek’s as they wait for a cab to drive by. “I can guarantee you’ll be getting your hands on some of my treats.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna touch that remark,” Derek says, looking at Stiles for a moment before turning away.

There’s a short burst of laughter from Stiles before Derek feels the soft press of lips on his skin. It’s so quick that Derek would think he imagined it, but when he glances at Stiles, there’s a flush of red on Stiles’ cheeks darker than before.

“C’mon,” Derek says softly. “Lets go and see the tree.”

*

The tree lights sparkle on the ice rink and Derek watches Stiles watch the skaters; Stiles’ eyes are bright, mouth buried under his scarf, nose peeking out of the top, and Derek’s pretty sure he’d be content to watch Stiles for the rest of the night.

“I know you’re staring at me,” Stiles says, his voice muffled by his scarf.

“Want me to stop?”

“Just think that maybe you’re missing what we came here to see.”

“I looked at the tree,” Derek says, nudging Stiles shoulder with his own. “It’s pretty.”

“Tradition is lost on you, isn’t it?” Stiles huffs, turning to look at Derek. “It’s the tree, Derek. When I was little, me and my parents would take the train in specifically to see the tree. We’d get hot chocolate over there, and they’d let me have a giant pretzel, which I never managed to finish, but I always tried.”

“Sounds good,” Derek says, all too easily imagining a tiny Stiles clutching a pretzel and being lifted up by Claudia to see the lights. “We live by a forest, so there’s a lot of outdoors for us to explore. Despite what you think, Northern California does sometimes gets snow at Christmas. Each year we take pies to our neighbours, but one year the snow had fallen so thick that we couldn’t get out on the day we usually delivered them, so we had a snowball fight instead. Mom couldn’t even get mad when we came in dripping melted snow everywhere because she’d joined in. Smacked me right in the face with a snowball and Laura fell over from laughing too much.”

“Your family sounds like fun.”

“They’re... something.”

“It’s only ever been me, my mom and dad, and my baba. Scott’s basically family as well, but I always wondered what it was like to have more than that.”

“Loud, mostly,” Derek says. “But supportive. If one of them annoys me, I know I have others to talk to. It’s not so great if I want some peace, but I manage.”

“Where do you go? I mean, aside from running to the opposite coast.”

Derek laughs softly. “My room at home had a lock, but there’s this space in the forest; it’s pretty high up but when you get up there you can see the whole town. It’s peaceful.” Glancing over at the tree for a moment, Derek shrugs. “It sounds kind of ridiculous, I know—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Stiles interrupts, moving close to Derek, so close that Derek can see the shadows Stiles’ eyelashes cast on his cheeks. “It sounds pretty amazing.”

“Yeah,” Derek says hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off Stiles’ face. “It is.”

The coloured lights play over Stiles’ skin and Derek finds himself closing the last few inches of space between them; taking a glove off, Derek cups Stiles’ cheek, exhaling slowly when Stiles turns into the touch.

“Pretty sure this is where you kiss me,” Stiles says quietly, mouth curving up in a small smile.

“You think so?” Derek asks, leaning in until his lips are ghosting over Stiles’ mouth. The noise around them fades into the background, and Derek is sure he can hear the hitch in Stiles’ breath as he presses their lips together. Stiles’ mouth is slightly parted and Derek tugs Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly before letting go. “Guess you were right,” Derek says in a low voice, his thumb stroking under Stiles’ eye.

“Kind of glad about that.”

Chasing Stiles’ mouth, Derek draws him into another kiss, making a small noise when Stiles’ hand curls around the back of his neck, the pads of Stiles’ fingers tracing a pattern underneath Derek’s hairline. Derek shivers at the touch, his own hands wrapping around Stiles’ waist, and all he can think about is how much he wants to get his hands on every single inch of Stiles. Pulling away, Derek offers Stiles a smile, nudging his nose against Stiles’ cheek. “Thought you wanted hot chocolate?”

Stiles hums, his hands idly running through Derek’s hair. “Maybe I think you taste better.”

“I think I know why you were single before I came along.”

“That doesn’t say much for your taste, does it?”

Holding Stiles around the waist, Derek pulls him closer. “I’m pretty okay with my taste.”

*

Stopping by the café, Derek waits in line, nodding at Claudia when she pokes her head out of the kitchen.

“Hi, what can I—Derek?” Stiles’ face lights up and he leans over the counter, quickly pecking Derek on the lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“Gingerbread latte?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and rests his hands on the counter, furrowing his brow at Derek. “Aren’t you meant to say you’re here to see me?”

“I can do that and get a gingerbread latte, right?”

“Might want to be careful with that attitude,” Stiles says, grabbing a mug to start making Derek’s drink. “My dad’s in the kitchen today with my mom.”

“Oh,” Derek says, tapping his fingers on the counter. “Does he—have you—I mean about us?”

“Eloquent.” Stiles shoots Derek a look over his shoulder. “I can totally see how you’re a writer.”

Making a face at Stiles, Derek glances back at the kitchen, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s looking for. “I want to meet him,” he says when Stiles puts his drink on the counter.

“Right now?”

“Can you think of a better time?”

“Dad?” Stiles calls out, not taking his eyes off Derek. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Kiddo, what is it?” Stiles dad wipes his hands over his apron as he comes out, eyeing Derek suspiciously. “And who is this?”

“This is Derek, dad.”

“Derek.”

“Uh huh.”

“The Derek your mom got to meet but I didn’t?”

“It’s not like I did that on purpose,” Stiles says, widening his eyes at his father. “You just happened to be really busy that day.”

“Right,” Stiles’ dad says, raising an eyebrow at Stiles before turning to Derek. “You’re Derek?”

“Yes sir.” Derek curls a hand around his mug, taking some comfort from the heat that spreads over his palm. It’s been a long time since he’s met the parents of someone he’s dating and he’s sure that it never gets easier.

“And you’re dating my son?”

“Dad, stop torturing him,” Stiles interjects. “I’m an adult, I can date whoever I want. Derek’s the one who wanted to meet you today.”

“Is he?” Stiles’ dad looks at Derek again, and Derek hopes he’s not imagining the small spark of respect in his eyes. “Call me John. I would shake your hand, but I doubt you want pastry and flour over it.”

The nervous weight in Derek’s stomach eases off and he smiles at John. “Thanks for the consideration,” he says. “I will take a chocolate muffin if that’s okay?”

“Of course. Stiles, get him a muffin and take your break. Your mom can take over out here.”

“Are you—” Stiles cuts himself off, walking over to the display cabinet. “Nope, not gonna question this.”

“Good choice. Nice to meet you finally, Derek,” John says before heading back to the kitchen.

Stiles leads Derek over to the couch in the corner and places Derek’s muffin on the table before sitting down. “So why’d you stop in today? I thought you were busy writing?”

“I was,” Derek says, taking a sip from his latte before putting it down. “It wasn’t working very well, so I decided to go for a walk and ended up here.”

“You _walked_ here?” Stiles presses the back of his hand to Derek’s forehead. “You’re freezing, why did you walk here?”

“Because I could.” Derek covers Stiles’ hand with his own, tugging it down until he can link their fingers together. “It helped clear my head, Stiles, it’s fine. I was halfway over the bridge before I realised what I needed to work out and I figured I may as well carry on and see you before heading back.”

“You’re really just here for the muffin, aren’t you?”

Derek leans in and kisses Stiles softly. “You caught me.”

“Hell yeah I did.”

*

The day before Derek’s signing, he wakes up to the city covered with snow and more coming down in heavy waves. “Shit,” he mutters, tugging on a hoodie and pulling up the forecast on his laptop. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he sighs and checks the airline website, slowly becoming convinced that he won’t be making it home for Christmas. Shutting his laptop, Derek crawls back into bed, pulling the covers over his head and closes his eyes.

Not long after he lays his head on his pillow, Derek’s woken up by the weight of someone on his bed. “Wha—Stiles?” Shifting onto his side, Derek frowns at the sight of Stiles looking down at him. “What’re you doing here?”

“You gave me a key.”

“For emergencies.”

“I saw the weather,” Stiles says, reaching over and stroking a hand through Derek’s hair. “Figured you wouldn’t be okay.”

“I’m okay, Stiles,” Derek huffs, stretching his legs out to relieve the numbness.

“No, you’re not.” Stiles lies down on the bed and curls up close to Derek. “You wanted to go home and now you probably can’t, and that sucks. If you want me to go, then I’ll go, but I want to be here for you.”

“Stay,” Derek says quietly after a moment. “Get changed, though.”

“Are you trying to get me to strip for you?”

“Is it working?”

Stiles laughs, getting off the bed and slipping out of his pants. “That work for you?”

“Get in the bed,” Derek says, feeling a smile on his face for the first time since he woke up. “C’mon.”

Stiles grins at Derek for a moment and then he’s right _there_ , in Derek’s bed and Derek suddenly realises this is the first time this has happened. “Hi,” Stiles says, nuzzling at Derek’s neck, pressing a light kiss against the skin. “You don’t have to be okay.”

“Better, now.” Derek curls an arm around Stiles and slides his hand under Stiles’ tshirt. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here.”

“Where else would I be?”

It’s quiet after that, just the two of them breathing; the occasional rustle of fabric; street noise from outside floating up, and from one breath to the next Derek finds himself falling asleep.

*

Waking up slowly, Derek smiles to himself when he realises Stiles is sleeping half on top of him, his leg wedged between Derek’s thighs, pressing against Derek’s half hard dick. Derek’s never woken up like this with Stiles before and now that he has, he can’t imagine ever wanting anything different.

Stiles makes a snuffling noise, rubbing his face against Derek’s hoodie and smacking his lips together. “S’time is it?”

“Late, probably,” Derek says, squinting at the window. There’s no sunlight coming through, but it’s December in New York, so it could still be early afternoon. “I can’t tell.”

“What d’you wanna do?”

“Have you got to work?”

“Closed today. I’m all yours.”

“Then we should stay here,” Derek says, stroking a hand down Stiles’ back, skimming over the waistband of Stiles’ boxers.

“And what are we going to do here?”

“Got any suggestions?”

Lifting his head, Stiles smirks at Derek, lightly pressing his leg down against Derek’s cock. “I think I have a few ideas.”

“Don’t start something you don’t want to finish,” Derek says, grunting when Stiles shifts, crawling on top of Derek and sitting up, his ass against Derek’s crotch, knees slotting either side of Derek’s hips.

“Does it seem like I don’t want to see this through?” Stiles leans over Derek and kisses him slowly, until Derek’s left breathless, his hands skimming underneath Stiles’ tshirt, pushing it up to greedily touch more and more of Stiles’ warm skin. Breaking the kiss, Stiles strips his shirt off, and then Derek’s left staring at a mostly naked Stiles, eyes tracking the pattern of moles dotted over his skin. “I’m feeling a little exposed, here,” Stiles says, sitting back up and tugging at the hem of Derek’s hoodie.

Flashing a grin at Stiles, Derek wriggles out of his hoodie, dropping it on the floor beside the bed. “Better?”

“Much,” Stiles says, reaching out to touch Derek’s chest.

Derek glances down at Stiles’ fingers, watching them press against his skin, gasping when Stiles’ fingers graze over his nipples.

“Like that?” Stiles asks, a smirk on his face as he does it again and again until Derek’s cock is aching between his legs.

“Come here.” Derek reaches up, grabbing blindly at Stiles’ arms and tugging him down until they’re face to face. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, curving a hand around the back of Stiles’ head and rubbing their noses together. Their mouths meet in a heated kiss, Stiles’ thighs parting, his body squirming down against Derek, their cocks brushing against each other between layers of fabric.

“I feel like I’m gonna get fabric burns,” Stiles mutters against Derek’s skin, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Lose the sweatpants.”

Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Stiles’ boxers, Derek tugs them down and pats Stiles on the ass. “You first,” Derek responds, snorting with amusement when Stiles inelegantly wriggles around on top of him. “Punch me in the dick and this’ll be over before it begins.”

“I’m not that—done!” Stiles makes a face and kicks his boxers down to the end of the bed. “Now you.”

“You’re not going to get off me to make this easier, are you?” Derek sighs. He reaches down and tugs his sweatpants down, lifting his butt off the bed to get them halfway down his thighs. Screwing his face up, Derek thinks for a moment before wrapping his arms around Stiles and rolling them over.

“Cheating!” Stiles squawks, his legs flailing around, blankets getting tangled around them.

Derek laughs, kicking his sweatpants off until they’re somewhere around the bottom of the bed, and then he’s finally, gloriously, naked with Stiles. “Complaining?” he asks, tilting his hips down and grinding against Stiles slowly.

“I—no, no, I didn’t— _fuck_ ,” Stiles gasps, his eyes wide, fingers scrambling for a grip against Derek’s biceps.

Needing more friction, Derek hitches himself up on his hands for leverage, tilting his hips down and dragging his body up and down in a slow rhythm. Stiles’ clever fingers are touching Derek’s skin all over; stroking down his sides; squeezing his ass; pressing the tips of his fingers against the dips at the base of Derek’s spine. It’s more than a little distracting, and Derek finds himself losing the rhythm he’s set, dropping down on his forearms and kissing Stiles’ open mouth, teasing him with slow, soft kisses before sucking Stiles’ bottom lip into his mouth for a second.

Breathing heavily, Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’, his hips moving in slow circles. It’s so hot in his bedroom, Derek’s not sure he can catch his breath and he doesn’t think he cares, not when he has Stiles underneath him like this; their bodies moving against each other so smoothly, sending sparks down Derek’s spine, making him want to hold Stiles tight and not let go.

“Not gonna last very long,” Stiles mutters, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I—”

“You think I am?” Derek responds, his cock sliding against Stiles’ stomach, pre-come and sweat mixing together. “Wanted you from the first time I saw you. Want—oh—this, want _you_.”

“You’ve got me,” Stiles says, his eyes locked with Derek’s. “For as long as you want.”

Derek seeks out Stiles’ mouth, kissing him and hoping it says what he can’t. From the way Stiles clings to him, kissing him back just as fiercely, Derek thinks it worked. He starts to move faster, the ache low in his gut making him burn with the need to come, wanting Stiles to come with him. Stiles is practically trembling underneath him, and Derek focuses on him, kissing him softly, grinding against him until he hears Stiles cry out, feels his cock pulse and the wetness spread between them.

“Keep going,” Stiles says against Derek’s mouth. “Want to feel you come.”

Derek groans at Stiles’ words, his mind blank as he moves, lips dragging over Stiles’ mouth. Derek’s so close, needing just a little bit extra, and that’s when Stiles’ fingers grip his ass, the touch sending Derek over the edge, breath coming in shorts gasps as he comes.

For a while, there’s only the sound of breathing, and then Stiles exhales heavily. “That was even better than—”

“If you mention another guy’s name,” Derek interrupts, his mouth pressed against Stiles’ neck. “I’m gonna bite you.”

“I... would not object to that,” Stiles says, his hands idly trailing up and down Derek’s back. “But I was going to say that was better than I thought it would be. Which doesn’t sound like a compliment, but I swear it is considering how good I thought this was going to be. I should stop talking, possibly.”

“I like you talking,” Derek says, lifting his head and shifting a little, wincing at the mess they’ve managed to make. “Shower? Dinner?”

“Afterglow?”

“There’s come on the blankets,” Derek responds, sitting up and running his finger through the come on his stomach. “Afterglow another time.”

*

“It’s cancelled?” Derek looks over at Stiles and makes a face while his agent talks down the phone. “No, I didn’t expect people to turn up in the snow, Erica. It’s fine, I’m sure I can find some way of occupying myself. Uh huh, you too.”

“Your signing’s been cancelled?” Stiles lies down on the couch, resting his feet in Derek’s lap.

“Yep,” Derek says, dropping his phone on the table and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Apparently the store isn’t even sure if it’ll be open.”

“Pretty big storm going on,” Stiles says, flicking the tv to The Weather Channel. “I had to call my mom to warn her we might not make it to Brooklyn for Christmas.”

“We?” Derek frowns at Stiles, absently running a hand up Stiles’ leg. “I didn’t—”

“Did you think I was going to leave you here alone on Christmas Day?”

“No, but—” Derek breaks off and shrugs. “You don’t have to invite me.”

“Yeah, well, I want to. Though if the snow doesn’t take a break, it’ll all be for nothing anyway.” Stiles pokes Derek’s thigh with his foot and scrapes a hand through his hair. “Have you check your flight?”

“I cancelled it while you were getting the cookies from your apartment.”

“You—why? You wanted to see your family. If there’s a chance you can get on the plane then why—”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, squeezing Stiles’ leg and smiling at him. “I have a flexible schedule, I can get home any time I want. Some people aren’t so lucky.” Stiles keeps staring at him and Derek shakes his head in confusion. “What?”

“You’re a really decent person.”

“You’re inviting me to your family Christmas.”

“Yeah, but you cancelled your flight, Derek. That’s huge.”

Derek shrugs, slightly embarrassed, feeling heat spread over the back of his neck. “It’s really not. I already told you, I can go home whenever I want.”

Eyeing him carefully, Stiles shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll drop it. For now. Are you sure you want to spend Christmas with my parents?”

“If they’ll have me.”

“Please, I think my mom is looking forward to seeing you more than seeing me, and my dad doesn’t hate you. There’s a thing we do on Christmas Eve, I don’t know if you’d want to—you don’t have to, but—”

“What is it?”

“We go to church. My baba would always go, and we’re not crazy religious or anything, but ever since she died we kept up the tradition.”

Derek’s quiet for a moment, fingers stroking the inside of Stiles’ thigh. “Okay,” he says quietly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a church, but sure.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says, reaching over and catching Derek’s fingers, squeezing once before letting go.

The comfortable silence is broken by Stiles’ stomach rumbling and Derek looks over, raising an eyebrow at him. “Hungry?”

“Shut up.”

“I’ve got frozen pizza and tater tots. Otherwise, it’s running to the bodega.”

“M’comfy,” Stiles huffs. “Pizza please.”

“We’d better hope this snow eases off,” Derek says, lifting Stiles’ legs up so he can get off the couch. “Or else we’re going to end up starving to death.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” Stiles says, reaching out and grabbing Derek’s hand. “You like me too much.”

*

After a trip to the bodega on the corner the next morning to stock up on food, they spend the next few days holed up in Derek’s apartment. Derek’s never been able to write with someone else so close to him before, but somehow with Stiles it’s different; sure, he’s a distraction, but he also balances Derek in a way Derek didn’t expect. Stiles is perfectly capable of entertaining himself, even if Derek doesn’t quite understand what Stiles is saying when he starts muttering about baking agents, buttermilk, and different types of piping.

Finishing off a paragraph, Derek stretches his arms over his head, smirking when he notices Stiles watching him, a slight flush on his cheeks. He’s about to get up from his desk and follow through on the promise in Stiles’ eyes, when Skype notifies him that his mom is calling.

Sighing, Derek diverts his attention back to the computer. “Wanna meet my mom?” he calls out to Stiles.

“What?” Stiles looks up and frowns at Derek. “Like right now?”

“She’s Skyping me, hold on.” Derek answers the call and smiles when his mom’s face fills the screen. “Hey mom, give me a moment?”

“Can’t come home for Christmas and then he makes me wait.”

Derek rolls his eyes and then waves a hand at Stiles, gesturing him over. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, shifting over on the chair and tugging Stiles down until they’re both face level with the screen. “This is Stiles, mom.”

“Is he the reason you’re not coming home for Christmas?”

“Mom!” Derek exclaims, trying to ignore Stiles laughing next to him. “You know it’s the snow!”

“And you should know by now I like teasing my children.” His mom adjusts her glasses, and sips from her mug. “It’s nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m glad Derek has some company if he can’t be at home.”

“Happy to give it to him, Mrs. Hale,” Stiles says. “I mean—that’s not what I—”

“Call me Talia,” Derek’s mom says smoothly, cutting over Stiles’ awkward explanations. “Your sisters are out with your dad getting some last minute things, so I thought I’d check in while the pie bakes.”

Derek makes a wounded noise. “Pie? My pie?”

“Honey, I’m not making your pie until you come home,” his mom says. “Even if Laura tried to bribe me to do so.”

“She tried to bribe you?”

“Promises of housework and coffee in bed.”

“Laura doesn’t even live with you anymore, and she sleeps in later than I did,” Derek says, making a face. “She thought that would work?”

“Don’t be mean about your sister,” his mom chides, hiding a smile behind her mug. “Are you going to stay in the city for Christmas?”

“We’re going to go to Stiles’ parents in Brooklyn. The subway’s still running. We’ll have to walk through slush, but we’d have to do that anyway.”

Derek’s mom hums in approval and glances over her shoulder when the timer goes off. “Oh, the pie,” she says distractedly before looking back at the screen. “That’s good to hear. We miss you, Derek.”

“Miss you too, mom,” Derek says quietly, curling an arm around Stiles’ waist. “I’ll come visit you soon. Don’t let the pie burn.”

“I won’t,” she says, smiling at him. “Have a good Christmas, sweetheart, we’ll talk to you soon,” his mom says before she rings off.

“She’s nice,” Stiles says, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, fingers drawing circles on Derek’s thigh. “I’m glad I got to kind of meet her.”

“Me too.”

“Hey.” Stiles lifts his head and reaches over, touching Derek’s chin, I know it’s not going to be the same, but we’re gonna have a good Christmas, okay?”

“I know.” Derek leans into the touch, smiling at Stiles. “I trust you.”

*

“Mom?” Stiles pushes the door to the house open, leaving Derek to carry their bags in. “Dad? Anyone? Ghosts of Christmas past?”

Derek snorts, dropping their bags in the hall and closing the door behind him. “No one home?”

“Apparently not,” Stiles says, shrugging, slipping out of his coat and hanging it up. Waggling his eyebrows at Derek, Stiles grins at him. “Wanna go to my childhood bedroom and make out?”

“Can I get changed first?” Derek responds, handing Stiles his coat. “My feet are like ice.”

Stiles hangs up Derek’s coat, stepping closer, his lips falling into a pout. “Poor little California kid, can’t cope with our East coast weather.”

“Sorry, you wanted to make out with me?” Derek takes a step backwards, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “Do you really think that’s your best tactic?”

“I—” Stiles cuts himself off when the door opens. “Mom!”

“Oh you boys arrived already,” Claudia says, drawing Stiles into a hug. “I was hoping to have your father cooking dinner before you got here.”

“We could leave and then come back, if you want?”

“Funny,” Claudia says, shaking her head at Stiles. “Derek, good to see you again.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we wouldn’t leave you alone on Christmas. Now you two go and get changed, you’re going to freeze in those wet clothes.”

Waving at Claudia, Derek picks up their bags and follows Stiles up the stairs until they reach a door. “Okay,” Stiles says, turning to look at Derek. “Don’t judge me on what’s left in my childhood bedroom.”

“Stiles—”

“It’s all from when I was a teenager, although I stand by the Star Wars merchandise and—”

“There’s snow leaking into my boots, Stiles. I don’t give a crap if you’ve got porn covering your walls, just let me in so I can get changed.”

“Ugh, fine.” Stiles rolls his eyes before stepping aside to let Derek push the door open.

Heading inside, Derek looks around the room and takes in the action figures scattered across the bookshelves, the posters of pop punk bands curling at the edges, the haphazardly stacked piles of comics, and turns to Stiles. “What’s so embarrassing about this?”

“Seriously?” Stiles drags his foot along the floor, not making a move to come in.

“Stiles, it looks like any teenager’s room,” Derek says, putting the bags on the floor before grabbing Stiles’ forearm, pulling him into the room. “C’mon, get on the bed.”

“Oh really?”

“Take your shoes off, pants as well,” Derek instructs, doing the same. Crouching down in his boxers, Derek opens a bag and roots around, tugging out two pairs of sweatpants. “Are these okay for hanging around the house?”

“No, my dad will expect you to be in a suit and tie,” Stiles says in a flat tone.

Derek shifts around and stares at Stiles, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Joking. Yes, sweats are fine. We’ll have time to change before church.”

Standing up, Derek slips into his sweats and then crawls onto the bed, his head resting on the pillow. “C’m’here,” he mutters, reaching out for Stiles.

“Gimme a second,” Stiles says, wriggling into his sweatpants before clambering onto the bed.

Derek shifts when Stiles lies down next to him; the bed is big enough for both of them, but Derek likes the way Stiles feels against his side, their hands brushing together, feet knocking against each other. “So this was your bed all through high school?”

“Uh huh.”

“And you jerked off how many times?” Derek asks, laughing when Stiles hits him on the chest. “I’m just curious.”

“Oh yeah? You like thinking about teenage me jerking off?”

“I like thinking about you,” Derek says, turning his head and kissing Stiles on the cheek. He grins when Stiles takes the opportunity to fling a leg over Derek’s hips and twist around until they’re face to face. “Hi,” Derek says, adjusting to the welcome weight of Stiles on top of him.

“Hey,” Stiles says in a low tone, leaning in and brushing his mouth over Derek’s so delicately that Derek barely registers it. “Wanna make out before my dad gets home?”

“It’s been years since someone’s said that to me.”

“Well you are old.”

Derek digs his fingers into Stiles’ lower back in retaliation, covering Stiles’ mouth with his own when Stiles yelps. Stiles’ hands automatically find their way to Derek’s hair, twisting his fingers through the bits he can reach. His thigh slips between Derek’s leg and Derek grunts, his hands pushing underneath Stiles’ t shirt as they kiss; Stiles’ teeth nipping at Derek’s bottom lip until Derek’s breathing heavily, his hands sliding down to grasp at Stiles’ ass.

“Think we have enough time for blow—”

“Stiles!” comes Claudia’s voice up the stairs. “Your dad needs help with dinner.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles groans, burying his face in Derek’s neck and laughing. “Worst timing ever.” Stiles can’t stop laughing, and Derek presses his hands against Stiles’ back, holding him close. “You jinxed it,” Stiles says eventually, pressing his lips against Derek’s neck in a soft loss.

“I didn’t jinx it!” Derek protests.

“You started talking about blow jobs.”

“Because those weren’t on your mind at all, were they?” Derek slides a hand up the back of Stiles’ t shirt, pressing his palm against Stiles’ heated skin. “You weren’t thinking about my mouth around your cock? About how I could tease you? Get you off in your childhood bedroom?”

“I’m starting to think this childhood bedroom thing is a kink for you,” Stiles says, his mouth moving against Derek’s skin. “But it’s going to have to wait because my mom will come up here soon and her catching me once with my pants down was enough.”

“Once? Are you going to tell me that story?” Derek watches Stiles climb off the bed and takes a moment to look him over; the long line of his body, his mouth reddened from making out, and his hair a mess from hands raking through it.

“Enjoying the view?” Stiles asks, offering a hand to Derek. “And no, not today.”

“I was enjoying it,” Derek responds, taking Stiles’ hand and clambering off the bed. “But I can wait. C’mon, I don’t want to get caught by your mom.”

Heading down the stairs, Derek’s immediately taken aback by the incredible smell coming from the kitchen. “That—what is that?” he asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Stiles stops on the second to last step and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “That’s my dad’s homemade burgers. Secret spices that he won’t tell me about yet.”

“A lot of secrets in your family are about food, aren’t they?”

“Best way to be,” Stiles says, kissing Derek on the cheek and pushing him forward. “Come on, food awaits.”

*

“That wasn’t too bad, right?” Stiles asks as they walk back from church arm in arm, snow and ice crunching under their feet.

“Worth it for Mrs. Jaskulski telling me stories about what you used to get up to in Sunday school,” Derek says, grin hidden behind his scarf.

“Okay, that woman is senile and full of lies.”

“Stiles, don’t be rude about Mrs. Jaskulski,” John calls from behind them. “That woman looked after you when you were a terror.”

“I’ve always been delightful,” Stiles huffs, detangling his arm from Derek, tugging his beanie down over his ears and stomping off towards the house as it comes into view. “See if I make any of you my special hot chocolate now.”

Derek sighs, giving Claudia and John a backwards glance before following Stiles up the steps to the front door. Leaning in behind Stiles, Derek kisses the back of Stiles’ head through his beanie. “I think you’re delightful,” he says as Stiles fiddles with his keys.

“You just want to get laid.”

“I can want to get laid and think you’re delightful at the same time.”

Stiles turns around and rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot,” Derek says, kissing him softly, losing himself in the feel of Stiles’ slightly dry lips; the slight aftertaste of coffee on Stiles’ tongue; Stiles’ gloved hands gripping Derek’s arms. Pulling away, Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’ and smiles. “Now come on, lets go inside before we traumatise your parents.”

*

Curling his hand around his mug full of hot chocolate, Derek wriggles his toes in his new cosy Santa socks, an early gift from Claudia. Stiles is resting his head on Derek’s lap, feet clad in a matching pair of socks and flung up on the arm of the couch. Christmas lights cast a colourful glow all around the room and Derek’s hard pressed to think of a time when he felt more relaxed.

“I’m glad you’re here for Christmas, Derek,” John says, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. “Stiles hasn’t ever invited someone home before.”

“Way to make me sound like a loser, dad, thanks.”

“Not what I was saying, kid and you know it,” John says, rolling his eyes. “Whatever the circumstances that lead you to be with us this year, Derek, I hope we can make Christmas as special for you as it would be at home.”

“Thank you,” Derek says with a small smile. “I guess it’s my own fault for booking such a late flight, but I’ve got somewhere to be, which is all that matters.”

“This is getting really mushy,” Stiles says, looking up at Derek with wide eyes. “You’re like a big teddy bear.”

“And you’ve had too much whiskey in your coffee,” Derek responds, tapping Stiles on the nose with one finger, laughing when Stiles goes cross eyed trying to follow it.

“So’s mom,” Stiles retorts, pointing over at where Claudia is dozing with her head on John’s shoulder.

“S’what?” Claudia mumbles, sounding so very much like Stiles it startles Derek when he looks over. “Bed?”

John chuckles, kissing his wife on the head before nodding. “Bed, yep.” Standing up, he reaches down and guides Claudia off the couch, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight,” Derek says, waving with two fingers as they walk towards the stairs.

“‘Night mom, ‘night dad,” Stiles calls, turning over and pressing his face against Derek’s stomach, his nose pressing right against Derek’s navel.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks when Claudia and John have made it upstairs, one hand stroking over Stiles’ hair. “Stiles?”

“Shhh,” Stiles says, voice vibrating against Derek’s body. “You smell nice.”

“You’ve stuffed your nose into my stomach.”

“What’s your point?” Stiles asks, his voice muffled by Derek’s hoodie.

“Too much whiskey for you,” Derek says with a fond smile.

“Lies and slander.”

Derek laughs, glancing over at the clock above the mantlepiece. “Hey,” he says, tugging at Stiles’ hair. “Merry Christmas.”

“Huh?” Stiles rolls onto his back and looks up at Derek, blinking at him.

“It’s past midnight,” Derek says, tracing a finger along Stiles’ bottom lip. “It’s Christmas.”

“And I got everything I wished for,” Stiles says, pursing his lips and kissing Derek’s finger.

“That’s incredible cheesy.”

Stiles grins up at him, undeterred by Derek’s snark. “Merry Christmas, Derek.”

“Merry Christmas, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://heroderekhale.tumblr.com).


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